


Do You Hear That Love

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Octavia POV, Octavia ships them okay, Post-Finale, Reunion Fic, just another idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3707729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This <em>cannot</em> be how the story ends, she thinks fiercely. Not with her big brother lying prone on the ground before he’s even made it to twenty-four, not with red staining his skin and rattling breaths emerging from his chest. They’re not even <em>home,</em> so far from that odd little camp and nowhere near the one person his heart aches for the most. </p><p>As he pales further by the minute, she prays for a miracle. And gets one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Hear That Love

**Author's Note:**

> Another reunion idea I couldn't get out of my head. This is Octavia’s POV which is always a challenge for me, but I gave it my best. And honestly a lot of it turned into Octavia & Clarke hashing it out because I just don’t like these two queens fighting :( anyways, hope you enjoy!

“Just hang on, Bell.” 

She’s whispering even when she should be yelling, ignoring the arrow that flies past her head. Her brother’s face is twisted in pain, sweaty with the effort not to grunt as he shifts against the boulder they’re crouched behind. She meets Lincoln’s eyes a few feet away, finding her own distress reflected back. She doesn’t even know where Monty’s hiding - fuck, she _hopes_ he’s hidden.

Bellamy groans, and her eyes snap back to him. Dark red soaks the entire right side of his shirt. The wound is large, gaping; she can’t even identify the weapon, only that she could practically hear the steel singing through the air before it connected with flesh - his, not hers, because the idiot shoved her out of the way. She’s not sure she’ll ever forget the sound that left his mouth, so raw and broken. 

This _cannot_ be how the story ends, she thinks fiercely. Not with her big brother lying prone on the ground before he’s even made it to twenty-four, not with red staining his skin and rattling breaths emerging from his chest. They’re not even _home,_ so far from that odd little camp and nowhere near the one person his heart aches for the most.

As he pales further by the minute, she prays for a miracle. And gets one, in the form of more arrows. But this time, they sail past her head in the opposite direction. 

She covers her head and bows over Bellamy, trying to take comfort in the fact that he’s still breathing, still fighting. When the whizzing above finally slows, she rises up slightly to peek over the rock and finds the enemy retreating, the guerrilla group of attackers fading back into the brush with a few grunts of their own as the arrows find their targets.

Lincoln’s by her side in an instant, heaving Bellamy into his arms. A dark-skinned woman appears from the trees. She’s covered in tattoos not unlike his own. She barks a few guttural words, to which he replies in a halting pattern, urgency in his voice. With a nod, she motions them to follow. Octavia searches for Monty and finds him already heading towards them, and together they rush through the trees as the new group falls in around them, herding them back to a small village.

“Ask them if they have a healer,” she begs Lincoln, who relays the message. The woman barks something back. “What did she say?”

“She said she’s the best in the land.”

Octavia can only hope she’s speaking the truth. Though in the back of her mind, she thinks there’s only one person who could possibly fit that description, and for all they know she might not even be alive anymore. She dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes - whoever it is, they’ll have to be good enough. 

As soon as they’re inside, the same woman barks out orders and the others scatter. Lincoln sets Bellamy down on the small stretcher that appears out of nowhere. The leader’s blank face gives away nothing as she watches Bellamy shake and gulp in air. 

Octavia heads her off before she can disappear too. “Please,” her voice cracks. “Please tell me you can save him.”

_”Octavia?”_

Her world gets turned upside down for the second time that day at the sound of Clarke’s voice. It takes her one second longer than Monty to turn, and by then he’s already sprinted the few feet to pull Clarke into a swift hug and tug her over all at once. Her hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, and she wears a simple shirt and jeans, as always, but her eyes seem clearer, less troubled than Octavia remembers.

That is, until they latch onto Bellamy. And then Clarke loses her shit.

Not in an obvious way, of course, but it’s in the loud breath she sucks in, the way her face crumples in despair, how her eyes brighten with tears all in the span of a single second. She sinks to her knees beside him, her hands trembling where they hover over his bloody shirt, wanting to touch and yet afraid to hurt him further. 

“Bellamy,” she breathes, and there’s so much hanging on that one word - fear, awe, despair. Love. She brushes hair back from his forehead in a caress.

His eyes flutter open, squinting in an attempt to focus on the sight of her leaning above him. “Princess?” He asks.

Clarke can’t seem to help the tiny laugh that escapes, even though a couple of tears roll down her cheeks with it. She covers his hand where it lies on the ground. “Yeah. It’s me.”

“It must be-” He breaks off in a fit of coughing, but his hand stays in hers. “Must be really bad if you’re here,” he manages, and Octavia wants to cry even more now because her brother is literally lying on the ground _bleeding out_ but he’s fucking smiling, all because Clarke Griffin is next to him.

“Idiot,” Clarke says worriedly. His answering laugh turns into a hack, and she shakes her head. Her fingers make their way to his pulse, lingering long enough that Octavia gets anxious. Looking around, Clarke beckons to them. “Help me get him inside the hut.”

The four of them heave the stretcher up between them, and soon they’re joined by the other woman and an older man as they make their way across. As soon as they’re inside, Clarke shoves everything out of the way, clearing a spot in the center as they lay him down. Bellamy’s small groan sounds incredibly loud in the room, and Octavia clings to his hand and looks up at Clarke in silent plea.

Clarke removes a knife from her boot and gently begins to cut through his torn shirt. “Look at you,” she says, and there’s a catch in her voice but she keeps talking while her eyes sweep over his ruined skin. “I should have known you’d get into trouble without me.”

“Should’ve known,” Bellamy repeats, but his voice is so fond as he gazes at her, still in disbelief.

When his shirt falls away, Octavia clamps down on the bile that rises in her throat as she catches sight of his mangled skin. The hiss that escapes Clarke a moment later doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone. She grabs her arm in question while Lincoln and Monty crouch on her other side. 

“What was the weapon that did this?” Clarke demands heatedly, and there’s fire in her eyes as she stares at each of them in turn. “Did anyone see the blade?”

It’s Monty who answers. “Long and curved,” he draws it in the air with his hands, “and it looked like it was stained or something, but I don’t-”

“Fucking _idiots,_ ” Clarke seethes. They all trade raised eyebrows when she then mutters more unintelligible words in what sounds like a whole other dialect entirely. Glancing around, the blonde beckons to the woman who brought them here. 

“Tali, see that no one comes in here without my say so. Find Malik, tell him Kensa’s moronic Onnecti dolts violated the truce and have been hoarding the _helleobe_ again.” Octavia looks at Lincoln to translate the unknown term, but he only shakes his head, just as puzzled. Clarke turns to Monty. “Get the fire going please? I need to burn off any infection.”

As Tali leaves, a young girl slips inside the hut. She can’t be more than seven or eight, barely taller than Clarke’s hip when she stands. And yet, she wears the same fierce expression that Octavia has seen on so many other faces since she landed on the ground. So it doesn't surprise her that the girl immediately holds out a bundle of cloth strips to Clarke. 

“Sasha,” Clarke greets her gently, blocks Bellamy’s body from view with her own as she takes the offered strips with a tight smile. “Where is your mother?” Another woman enters at that moment, and Clarke visibly relaxes. “Iris, thank god. I need you to go into the forest, gather every bit of willow bark and olea leaves you can find.”

“Of course, _fisa._ ” That, Octavia recognizes. It's the word for healer. “I will take-”

“You will take me,” Sasha interrupts, so bossily that Octavia nearly smiles despite it all. “I know what to look for, and we can cover more ground with two people.”

Iris and Clarke trade a glance, one that makes her think they’ve had this conversation before. It's Clarke who finally relents. “Only if you promise to be careful and stay close to your mother. And take your slingshot,” she instructs. When the girl nods, she ruffles her hair affectionately. “Alright, then. Thank you both. Bring whatever you can find back here in fifteen minutes.” 

“Clarke,” Octavia tugs her shirt until she looks over. “What’s going on? What did this?”

“Not what, who.” The other girl sighs and begins to gather extra rags and other items from around the hut. “It’s a poison, made from a special plant that’s only found this far north. The local tribes have an agreement not to store it or use it on weapons - or, they did, anyways. Kensa is the leader of the Onnecti Clan; she’s always got something new up her sleeve.”

Panic flares within Octavia, and it must show on her face because Clarke adds hurriedly, “There’s an antidote. That’s what I sent them for. Has he thrown up yet?”

She's shaking her head when Lincoln cuts in. "Once. Right as we got him out of sight, thought it was more of a dry heave."

Clarke nods briskly, as if she expected that. "His body was trying to reject the poison. Good." 

“So… he’ll be okay?” She’s almost terrified to ask, and she hates how tiny her voice sounds, but Clarke stops and squeezes her shoulders with a familiar determination.

“He’ll be fine, Octavia,” she says, then gets to her knees next to him. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch, though. I thought you were smart enough to avoid something like this,” Clarke scolds him, and the trace of fear in her voice is what hits hardest.

“He was protecting me,” Octavia tells her, throat tightening unbearably. “It’s my fault.”

Clarke puts a hand over Bellamy’s mouth before he can open it to protest. “Nonsense. Did you wield the knife?” She asks rhetorically. “I didn’t think so. This is entirely Kensa’s doing.” Her voice is dark when she adds, “And you better believe I’m going to make her pay.”

Somehow Bellamy manages to tug her hand off - likely because she lets him. “Look out world,” he teases hoarsely, “princess is coming for you.”

His meager attempt at a joke is met by rolled eyes all around, but Clarke strokes his cheek all the same, pressing her forehead to his for a quick moment in a gesture so curiously intimate and unguarded that Octavia’s reply gets stuck in her throat.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Clarke sighs and grabs her knife, smiling gratefully at Lincoln when he holds it over the fire to warm the steel. 

“Monty, any chance you’ve got moonshine?” Bellamy croaks.

To Octavia’s surprise, the other boy digs into his pack and holds out a tiny flask. “I always come prepared.” 

Clarke takes it and dumps some into a clay bowl with no small amount of relief. “Hey,” Bellamy protests weakly, only to be met by an arched eyebrow. The sight is so familiar that if it weren’t for Bellamy’s current condition, Octavia thinks she might be able to laugh at the absurdity of it. They’ve settled back into their old rhythm so quickly she wouldn’t have believed they were apart for months unless she’d seen it with her own eyes.

“Relax,” Clarke replies dryly. “There’s plenty left for you. God, I can’t believe I even missed the _smell_ of this stuff.” 

“Clarke.” They all turn to look at Lincoln, who nods at the blade that’s now glowing red over the fire. Clarke audibly gulps and closes her eyes for a moment. Octavia’s seen her do it enough to know that she’s _really_ dreading what comes next. But she’s also seen it enough to know that even before Clarke turns, everything will be shoved down deep, and she doesn’t disappoint. She’s all steel when she turns back to Bellamy.

“You need to drink up now,” Clarke tells him.

Bellamy chuckles, or tries to. “Bossy.” Clarke shakes her head but doesn’t rise to the bait, simply curling her hand under his neck and lifting his head enough that he can gulp down the bottle she puts to his mouth. When he sputters and wraps a hand around her wrist, she stops and lets him lie back down.

“That’s good, you did good,” she murmurs. Her hand lingers at his cheek for a moment longer.

Then she’s motioning to Lincoln to hand over the knife, and he settles into place next to her, arms outstretched to hold onto Bellamy. Trying to push away the fear clawing at her, Octavia crawls forward and places Bellamy’s head in her lap, her hands stroking over his hair as she looks down at him.

“Hang on, big brother,” she whispers, and kisses his forehead. When she looks up, Clarke’s eyes meet hers. She nods. _Do it._

Clarke takes a long breath, glancing one more time at Bellamy, then presses the knife to his skin. His body jerks immediately, and Monty has to throw his weight across his legs to keep him from bucking off the mat. It’s not long before a ragged noise escapes him, unbearably pained. She hangs on, opening her mouth to tell him _it’s okay, it’ll be okay_ but it’s Clarke’s voice that drifts out first, hushed apologies that repeat in a neverending loop. Her hands don’t stop once, steady and sure as they move along the wound, but when Octavia looks up she sees firelight glinting off the wetness on Clarke’s cheeks.

Bellamy’s out cold by the time she finishes, though Clarke’s eyes keep drifting back to him as she readies her needle and thread, as if convinced he’s going to wake up any minute and relive the pain once more. Thankfully, he does not. She watches Clarke loop the needle in and out of his skin, a crease between her brows as she counts each stitch, pulls the thread with a practiced ease. Her breath shakes, but nothing else does.

Midway through, the door opens behind them and the little girl - Sasha, she remembers faintly - enters and puts two baskets next to Clarke. To everyone’s surprise, she then plops down next to her in silence, her eyes following the movements of the thread. Octavia exchanges a look with Lincoln, but Clarke doesn’t say a word, so neither do they.

Finally it’s done, the last stitch securely knotted off. Clarke sits back and draws her sleeve over her face, coming away damp with sweat and tears. Octavia holds her eyes in gratitude, unable to speak. Clarke sniffs loudly, then looks to the basket next to her.

“Thank you Sasha,” she murmurs, her voice cracking a little. “Can you bring me an extra cup of water?” While the girl hops off to do so, Clarke retrieves the plants and begins grinding the leaves in a small bowl. After a moment, she looks up, stricken.

“Shit, I didn’t even ask. Is anyone else- are you all okay?”

“We’re fine,” Lincoln assures her. “We took cover with Bellamy when they began shooting. Didn’t want to risk whatever was on that blade also being on the arrowheads.”

Clarke’s eyes narrow, but she only nods. “They’re rather fond of surprises like that,” she says lowly, and Octavia can’t help but think she knows them very well. 

Lincoln echoes her thoughts out loud. “You seem to have personal experience with this group,” he says gently, and it’s not an accusation, just a curious inquiry.

“Not so much with them as with their toys,” Clarke explains, adding water until the mixture has formed a thick paste. “I nearly lost my arm to one of their insane animal traps. It was actually Sasha who found me, brought Tali to help get me out.” The young girl beams proudly from her side. Clarke pushes back her right sleeve to reveal a pattern of thick, jagged lines that circle her elbow. “Still have the souvenir, though.”

“Shit,” Monty releases a long breath. “How long have you been here?” 

“Three- no, four months now, right Sash?” The girl nods.

Octavia can’t help the question that flies from her mouth next. “And before that?”

Clarke looks up from where she’s smearing the paste over Bellamy’s skin. “I traveled. Everywhere and anywhere. _Alone,_ ” she adds, in slight rebuke, then shrugs. “I just wanted to figure out how to be _me_ again, or at least a version of me that I could live with.”

“And did you?” Monty questions.

“Eventually, yes. It took some time.” She shrugs. “And then I came here, and it was so good to feel useful again, to be needed for things like coughs and scrapes. So, I stayed.”

The note of melancholy in her voice doesn’t go unnoticed. But before Octavia can comment on it, Clarke glances around hopefully. “So how is… how is everything back h- at camp?”

Octavia’s one thousand percent sure she was about to say _home_ and that tells her everything she needs to know. The fact that Clarke still thinks of it that way only confirms the underlying sadness in her words - she misses it. And not just _it,_ she thinks, but one person in particular.

Monty’s already chattering away, eager to make up for lost time. He tells her about the cabins they’ve recently built, the large walls that went up not long after she left, the newer structures that are in progress. The sight’s attracted more wanderers from other fallen sections of the Ark, even, and their small community has grown. Clarke takes it all in hungrily, latching onto each detail and smiling when he speaks of the latest prank he and Raven managed to drag Jasper into. 

“He’s lucky to have you guys,” she says softly. There’s a deep ache in her eyes that Octavia suspects will always be there, even though she seems well-versed in hiding it now.

She watches Clarke do her best not to ambush them with questions, though now and then some slip out all the same when she simply can’t contain herself. She’s starving for knowledge, for a glimpse of their home, and it makes Octavia all the more confused as to why she hasn’t just come back already to see for herself.

A while later, Tali enters to let them know there are meals ready for them, if they wish. Clarke motions for them all to go, but Octavia stubbornly remains behind. Lincoln nearly protests, then sees what she means to do, so he simply kisses her with a promise to bring food back to the hut. After a quick exchange with Clarke, he heaves Sasha onto his shoulders and strides out, her giggles fading into the distance.

It’s quiet for a long time after the door shuts behind them. Clarke fixates a little too hard on wrapping the cloth strips around Bellamy’s patched up skin. Octavia lets the silence stretch, then decides tact has never been her strong suit, so there’s no point in starting now.

“It was all for you, you know,” she says. Clarke’s head snaps up, and she clarifies. “The cabins, the walls, there’s even a freaking _hospital,_ you know. All for you.” She jerks her head at her unconscious brother. “His doing.”

Clarke’s nostrils flare and she blinks rapidly, glancing away. But Octavia’s never let that stop her. “Clarke,” she says, “he’s taken such good care of everyone. You knew he would keep his word.” Still no reply. “But you know why we’re all the way up here?” She presses. “We take trips now, every month, always in a different direction than the last. He claims it's to see what other resources are out there. It’s crap. He’s been looking for you, Clarke. He misses you.”

A tear rolls down Clarke’s cheek and she swipes it away hastily. “I miss him too.”

Her voice softens. “Then why haven’t you come back?”

The bitter laugh that echoes in the cabin nearly makes her reel back in surprise. Clarke’s eyes flash. “Are _you_ of all people really asking me that question?”

Octavia stares, watches her eyes brighten with more tears that she refuses to let fall, watches her stroke Bellamy’s wrist in such undisguised longing that she can’t believe she didn’t see it until now. The last piece of the puzzle clicks into place.

“Me?” She asks in disbelief. “You didn’t come back because of _me?_ ”

Clarke’s fingers press against her temple in a familiar motion. “Don’t sound so surprised. The last time I saw you we weren’t exactly hugging it out.” A weary sigh escapes. “Look, I know you hate me, alright? We’re never going to agree about what happened. I would have still made the same choices if I had to do it again, and you would still hate me for doing so. That’s just how it is.”

It sounds like something she’s said to herself before; like something she finally knows to be true.

“And you thought coming back would make him choose between you and me,” Octavia says, still in shock.

“It would never be a choice, Octavia,” Clarke replies tiredly. “It’s always you, as it should be. And besides, I’d never ask him to do such a thing in the first place. I’m not an idiot.”

 _Except that you are._ “But you still think it would have gotten him stuck between us like some sick tug of war.”

“Well, wouldn’t it?” Clarke practically spits it out, as if daring her to say otherwise. _My god, such idiots._

“So you stayed away to avoid putting him in that position?” When Clarke’s mouth draws in a thin line, Octavia barks out an astonished laugh. She thought her brother was selfless to the point of stupidity, but it seems Clarke has him beat. Clarke glances up, eyes narrowing when she sniggers again. 

“Unbelievable.” Octavia shakes her head. “You know, it’s a miracle we all survived as long as we did with you two fools in charge of everything.”

“Octavia, what-”

“I don’t hate you, Clarke.” She smiles sadly at the other girl’s disbelieving snort. “I don’t agree with some of your decisions, and I have no problem letting you know that, but it was rash to say that it overshadows what you did for our people. What you did for Bellamy.” She looks down at her brother, his face eased in sleep, thinks of the countless fights they’ve had about this very topic.

“Look,” she says, “I know what it cost you, okay?” She sets her jaw against the guilt in Clarke’s face. “But you can’t keep trying to be a one-woman Council, Clarke. That’s what I was trying to get through to you. This was never just _your_ battle to fight.” 

Clarke looks down, absently tracing a scar that crosses Bellamy’s palm. “I just wanted to keep everyone alive,” she responds eventually. “I just wanted everyone home again. I never wanted to be in charge.”

“But you _are,_ Clarke. And you always will be. The only difference between you and Lexa is that you have help." Clarke flinches at the name, a slight shadow crossing her face. "Clarke," she implores, "You've always been a leader, but it doesn't mean you're alone in this. Not by a long shot." She tries to lighten her voice. “And every leader needs checks and balances, right?” 

A tiny snicker escapes. “That sounds like it came from one of our old history textbooks.”

“It probably did,” Octavia says dryly. “You wouldn’t believe the nerdy stuff Bell asked mom to read to us every night.”

The tension in the room eases a little, as they share a smirk that’s equal parts exasperated and doting. Octavia decides to clear the air once and for all. “Clarke.” She waits for their eyes to meet again. “Please believe me when I say I don’t hate you. I know better than most that nobody’s perfect. I just want you to realize you never had to do this alone. And that you can turn to us when you need to.”

When Clarke nods, she takes a chance and adds slyly, “Besides, I can’t exactly hate the girl my brother’s in love with.”

Clarke takes a sharp breath, her face alternating between hopeful and terrified so quickly that Octavia nearly laughs again. “And don’t even try to deny that it goes both ways,” she adds dryly. “The fact that you even considered _my_ feelings in all this pretty much sums it up.”

She raises an eyebrow when Clarke opens her mouth, only to have no words come out. She shuts it again with a rueful smile. “It took me a while to realize it,” she finally admits. “By then I thought I was probably too late.”

Octavia leans over and grasps her hand. “Trust me. You’re not. Though I'm telling you right now,” she adds in warning, “pull any weird crap with him and I’ll do more than hate you.”

“Fair enough.”

~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening, she and Clarke fall asleep despite their best efforts not to. At one point Octavia turns over to see Lincoln next to her, a plate of food within reach, and Monty and Sasha lying near Clarke. She smiles, and drifts back into slumber.

It’s the sound of rustling that wakes her next. She cracks her eyes open to see Sasha crawling up to sit next to Bellamy, whose eyes are wide open. Relief rushes through her, swift and overwhelming, and she wants to hug him and yell at him all at once. But something about Sasha’s quiet movements makes her pause. The girl fills a small bowl with water and holds it to his mouth, and he gulps it down, smiling in thanks afterwards.

“You are Bellamy of Skaikru,” she declares, her voice hushed but firm.

Bellamy's eyebrows lift in amusement. “I am,” he croaks out. “And you are?”

“Sasha of the Conos Tribe.” 

“Hello Sasha of Conos,” he says formally, and Octavia grins into her sleeve. “Pleased to meet you. How exactly do you know me again?”

“You’re her favorite,” Sasha says excitedly. _Oh, this oughta be good._

“Sorry?” His forehead creases in confusion. “Whose favorite?”

The young girl points to Clarke where she’s stretched out just a few feet away, her hand inches from his. “Clarke’s, silly. She has the best stories about you.”

Bellamy gazes at her for a long time, a stupidly gooey smile pulling at his mouth, and Octavia nearly rolls her eyes. _Fools, the both of them._ “Stories, huh?” He says finally. “Such as?”

The bait works instantly. “Like how you’re a soldier from the sky, and you taught her to shoot, and you have a warrior sister…” Sasha rambles on and on as Bellamy’s smile stretches wide enough to split his face, and even Octavia’s not sure she’s not matching it at the moment. The stories eventually pull in the others, too, the mechanic who never met a problem she couldn’t solve, the Earth soldier who fell in love with said sister, the two boys who used to play more pranks than she could count.

“ _Fisa_ will make certain Kensa’s tribe never even _looks_ at you wrong again,” Sasha finishes triumphantly, and it’s the sound of Bellamy’s hoarse laugh that makes Clarke startle awake.

She looks around like she’s still in a dream, not believing the sight in front of her until her eyes find Bellamy’s, and hold. In the span of a single heartbeat she’s by his side.

“Hey princess,” he whispers. 

“Hey back. How are you feeling? Are the bindings too tight? I wasn’t sure if- Do you need water? Sash-”

Bellamy chuckles and puts two fingers to her lips, and she freezes, mouth still slightly open. “I’m alright,” he says. “Thanks to you.”

She closes her eyes and grasps his wrist, leaning into his touch for a moment. Octavia shuts her own eyes, allowing them the privacy. Then she realizes that neither of them will move beyond careful touches and longing glances with everyone else still there, so she makes up her mind quickly.

With a loud yawn and exaggerated stretch of her limbs, she sits up and rubs her eyes. “Clarke, what- _Bell!”_ She scrambles over and wraps him in a tight hug as best she can. “Don’t you ever do that again,” she orders, hearing his expected chuckle in her ear.

“No promises,” he gets out, but his uninjured arm slides around her waist in a comfortingly strong grip.

Her movements and purposely loud voice have woken the other boys, and so together they help ease Bellamy into a seated position against one wall of the hut as Clarke hovers worriedly. Even that small motion seems to drain him of energy, so Octavia sets her plate of food next to him.

“Eat up, big brother," she orders. "Clarke has my permission to force feed you otherwise." She winks at Clarke, who nods hesitantly. Turning to Sasha, she bends and lifts the girl up. “Think you can show me where there’s more leftovers?” She asks. The girl nods eagerly, and Octavia gives the others a pointed look to follow as they head out the door. 

But as soon as they’re outside, she and Sasha stop and crouch, peeking through the slats. Monty stands right behind her, squinting through another narrow gap above as Lincoln tries not to chuckle at the lot of them. 

Clarke’s still looking at the door nervously, while in turn Bellamy can’t stop staring at her, wonder and joy warring on his face. “That was subtle,” she finally mutters.

He laughs. “That was Octavia,” he says, and Clarke grins shyly. When he holds out a hand, she takes it and lets him pull her down beside him. “I thought I dreamt you,” he murmurs, knuckles grazing her cheek.

“No such luck,” she whispers back, and he smiles again. Clarke’s throat bobs as she swallows thickly and traces the length of his bandage. “You’re going to be stuck here for a while,” she finally says. “Doctor’s orders.”

“I can live with that.”

“Good.” She pokes his arm gently. “Though if you’re as horrible a patient as I remember, _I_ might not survive,” she teases.

“Nonsense.” Bellamy grins impishly. “I’m your favorite, and you know it.”

Clarke’s eyes widen, a blush flaring in her cheeks and creeping down her neck. Despite that, she lifts her chin. “In your dreams,” she answers primly.

He chuckles and drapes his arm around her shoulders until she’s tucked into his side. “I missed you.”

Clarke buries her face into the crook of his neck and says something back, too quiet for them to hear, but it makes Bellamy sigh contentedly and hold her closer, and Octavia decides that’s their cue to truly leave.

~~~~~~~~~

She manages to drag out an entire hour away from the hut, but eventually has no choice but to return, because hey, she’s still his sister and she needs to make damn sure those two idiots have stopped kidding themselves.

When they step inside the cabin, she finds her brother lying down again - but this time, his head rests in Clarke’s lap. Clarke looks up first, and her fingers pause momentarily where they were soothing through his dark curls, but Bellamy only clasps her hand and tilts his head to plant a light kiss on her wrist. With a small smile playing at her lips, she continues the soft motion again.

_About damn time._

Octavia plops down beside them, gently poking Bellamy’s side. “Brought you more food. You better start building up strength for the trip home. No fainting allowed.” She arches a stern eyebrow. “You’re way too heavy for anyone to carry.”

To her surprise, he grins crookedly. “Then it’s a good thing we’ve got a doctor coming along, isn’t it?” 

Her heart leaps. Her brother beams up at Clarke, whose cheeks bloom with pink, but she nods her confirmation. There’s a silent question in Clarke's eyes when she looks up, though, and it's directed at Octavia. She smiles and is opening her mouth when another small voice bursts in.

“I want to come too! Pleeeeaase,” Sasha begs plaintively, clutching at Clarke’s sleeve. Both Clarke and Bellamy laugh, but Clarke’s gaze slides to Octavia almost instantly, her eyebrow lifting. _What do you think?_ Octavia grins and nods.

Bellamy, who’s been watching the entire interaction quietly, reaches out to tweak Sasha’s nose. “Don’t worry munchkin, we wouldn’t dare leave you behind.”

The girl cheers loudly and hugs Clarke, and more gingerly, Bellamy, before running off, presumably to tell others. Octavia glances curiously between the two of them. “How do you think the others will react?”

Clarke smiles. “Tali and Iris will be alright. I already know they have knowledge that can help us, and honestly they’ll benefit from a partnership with our camp, especially with the weapons we have. They need more than arrows nowadays.” Her fingers tap an absent pattern along Bellamy’s shoulder while she speaks. “There are others who’ve been wanting to travel as well. It might be good to bring them along, see what strikes up. Plus… I owe them, for everything. I don’t want to leave without offering something in thanks.”

“Good idea,” Lincoln says. “They have aided you for this long; there is no reason to think they will not appreciate this. Favors can go a long way to building trust.”

She nods, and they’re silent for a few moments.

“Clarke.” It’s Monty, who’s been pensive this whole time, that finally inches closer with a careful look on his face. Clarke turns to him, meeting his hopeful gaze. “You’re really coming back?” He asks softly. “You’re coming home for good?”

Bellamy reaches up to link his fingers with hers, and Clarke smiles. 

“Yeah,” she sighs happily. “I’m coming home.”

**Author's Note:**

> totally made up the plant/antidote names, lol. using real ones got complicated. Title from the song All About Us by He is We.


End file.
